


The Bar

by FlameWolf



Series: My Strange Romance [3]
Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 04:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7419025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlameWolf/pseuds/FlameWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cherise's friends drag her to a bar to help her forget her mysterious boyfriend after months of no contact. They had no clue they were leading her right into his arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not know Marilyn Manson, nor do I own anything affiliated with his band. This is a work of fiction and just for fun. Not profit will be made from this.
> 
> Author’s Note: And here we continue on our odd adventure. I’m sure you guys are starting to notice a running theme in these.

Cherise huffed slightly as she followed some of her gal pals into the over-crowded bar.  Actually it was more like a club, even had a dance floor but was still calling itself a bar.  After months of languishing alone at home, her friends had decided to take her out to find her a guy; as if a penis held the answer to her very real problems.  In reality, the solution to her problem was miles away in LA; probably performing a concert or two.  Communication with her wayward, famous lover had been great for the first week but had quickly dropped off.  At first; she had tried to play it off as him being busy but, when weeks became months of no contact, she finally had to admit to herself that he must have simply moved on to a woman who was more available.  Her suspicions had only been confirmed during a visit to a wiki article about him and she saw he was currently in a relationship with an eighteen year old.  That had inevitably led to her self induced isolation.  “Cherri, we brought ya here to loosen up a bit and get your mind off this guy you’re pining for.  You still haven’t told us this jerk’s name,” came the voice of Allison, one of her more vapid acquaintances.

“And I’ve told you his name doesn’t really matter.  He’s gone anyway so why should you care about who he was,” the dual haired artist sighed, moving her now green bangs behind her ear.

“Because the douchebag broke your heart!  You haven’t left your house in months girl!  That’s just not healthy!  We aren’t expecting you to just get back on the horse here but maybe dancing with some dudes will get your mind off things,” grumbled Lavender, her more sassy, colored friend.

“Look, I’m here now so let’s just forget about it and have some fun.  Lord knows I could stand to be a bit drunk tonight,” the dual haired artist sighed, steering the small group of women ahead of her.  With any luck, maybe she would be drunk enough to dance soon.

Five minutes as well as a couple shots of Apple Pucker later and she was in the mob of people on the dance floor, dancing with a reasonably handsome man.  He was dressed in all black and had black hair.  His face was pale, yet handsome and his blue eyes stayed fixed on hers as they danced together.  “You dance very well,” he purred, his voice a raspy mid-tone that sounded quite pleasant.

“Thanks, you do pretty well yourself,” Cherise replied as the song stopped.  Then she was moving back to the table of her small group of friends, she didn’t notice the stranger following her closely.

As soon as she got close to the table, however, her friends were giggling and pointing; confusing the shit out of her.  Turning her head slightly to see what they could possibly find so funny, she saw her dancing partner giving her an appreciative look.  Sighing, the artist was about to let him off easy when it dawned on her that there was really no reason to do so.  She wasn’t technically attached to anyone and she was no longer a virgin.  Why shouldn’t she just enjoy her night with this young man?  It may turn into something and it may not, did it really matter?  So, with a warm smile, she motioned for him to join her and her friends.

Over the next half hour, she learned his name was Damian and that he had one hell of a tolerance for alcohol.  Cherise, on the other hand, was quite a lightweight and soon found herself entirely without those pesky inhibitions of hers.  In fact, she was on the dance floor with her new friend and soon to be one night stand, grinding against his body as his hands rested on her hips.  “Is your name really fuckin’ Damian?  Just seems a bit cliche given your choice of attire,” she prodded in a slurred voice, earning a chuckle from the slightly taller man across from her.

“‘Fraid so.  My parents really liked the name and I decided to just roll with it,” he murmured, bending down slowly to brush his lips along hers.

The green banged femme startled at first before slightly relaxing, ignoring the voice in the back of her head that was telling her this was wrong.  She wasn’t cheating on anyone!  Manson had moved on before she had and he hadn’t even had the courtesy of sending her a text.  She was well within her rights to kiss or even have sex with whoever she damn well pleased.  So, she licked his lips to deepen the kiss; earning instant access as well as a deep growl.  She was just about to wrap her arms around his pale neck before she suddenly found herself being ripped away from her would be lover.  “Dude, what the fuck!” Damian snarled, only to stop when he took a good look at the much taller man that had shoved her behind his back.

“Back off!  Find some other whore to screw.  This one is mine,” came a deep, growly husk as Damian began to back away.  Before she could protest, she found herself enveloped in a pair of arms and ushered to a darker, much more secluded part of the dance floor.

Her face was shoved hard into a shirt covered, bony chest as a very familiar scent filled her nose.  Giggling slightly she shook her head.  It had to be a coincidence, there was no real way  _ he _ could be here with her.  It had to be all the alcohol she drank messing with her senses.  “You interrupted what could have been a very nice evening,” she chided her mystery savior, swaying slightly as all the Pucker in her system made it hard to keep her balance.

“You’re drunk...  That bastard was going to...  Was it that easy for you to let go of me?” came the responding baritone, a hint of hurt in his voice as he began to almost slow dance with her; not matching the hard, fast rhythm of the music around them.

“What are you talking about?  I don’t know you anymore than I know Damian back there,” slurred the artist as she tried to pull away enough to see her partner’s face.  Instead of allowing it, the much larger man kept her held tight against him; another snarl ripping from somewhere deep inside his chest.

“You know me quite well.  In fact, we seem to keep meeting like this.  Why were you dancing with that jackass?  Is he your new boyfriend?” came the responding rumble, a very tiny hint of amusement in the angry tone.

“I really have no idea what you’re talking about.  As for goth boy... I was just lonely.  The man that holds my heart....,” she whispered, sighing shakily as she shook her head.

“I got drunk to forget him so can you just let go of me now.  I’m pretty sure you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” Cherise continued, moving her green bangs behind her ear as she swayed in place.

The man holding her only sighed, his large hands moving over her back in an almost soothing manner.  “Why were you trying to forget... this man,” he whispered, his voice oddly familiar and causing tingles of arousal to race through her veins.  Shaking her head, the artist shrugged and simply allowed herself to relax into this stranger’s hold.  After all, she was planning on just having a one night stand and one guy was just as good as another.

“Let’s just say he had already forgotten about me.  Jerk stopped talking to me and I later found out he had moved on to someone else without so much as telling me,” the twenty-eight year old confessed, finding this guy’s presence oddly comforting.  Even through her haze of alcohol, she felt as if she knew this person.  If only he would loosen his grip to allow her to see his face.

The taller man’s grip tightened around her in response to her words, a quiet keen leaving him as his nose burrowed itself in her dual colored hair.  “You found out about that...  Christ, of course you did.  You’re a fan.  I never forgot about you!  Not for one moment!  I just... fuck, I don’t know...,” he rasped as he crushed her to him, his response confusing her through her drunkenness.

“Just what the fuck are you talking about!  I don’t know...,” she began as she turned her head and looked up to only see the blurred side of a very pale face.  Frowning slightly, she tried to back away more in order to see him more clearly; his grip loosening to finally allow her to do so.  When she saw who it was that had been holding her, she filled with both anger and heartbreak.

Before Manson could even speak, Cherise was slapping him with everything she had within her; tears flowing down her porcelain cheeks.  Then she was curling her hands into tiny fists and stomping away, her heart roaring so loudly in her ears that she didn’t hear him calling her name.  All she could think was _ , ‘How dare he...  How  _ **_dare_ ** _ he show up here and act as if nothing happened between us’ _ as hot tears clogged her throat and her heart became an aching sore in her chest.  So, in an effort to escape the celebrity, she headed straight into the press of people; deaf to his increasingly desperate calls of her name.  Thankfully it seemed to work as he didn’t follow her out of the crowd.

Speedwalking, the drunk, pissed, hurt female motioned for her friends to get up.  “Come on, we gotta move to a more secluded part of the club,” she hissed, her blue eyes spitting fire.  Thankfully the group was far too smashed to question things, moving immediately to a much darker part of the club.  They had just sat back down to order another round of drinks when Manson came bursting out of the mob, his mismatched eyes wild as they searched the room.  For just a moment, Cherise felt an urge to rush out to him but she managed to restrain herself.  The man had a girlfriend anyway, there was no way she was going to help him cheat on her.  Still, watching him pace as he grew more and more distraught was hard.

As she watched, the usually confident rockstar began to get shaky; his breathing growing more rapid as the minutes ticked by.  Then he seemed to swear vehemently, tears tracking black mascara down his naked cheeks as he fisted his hands in his now short hair.  He swore again, this time loud enough for even her to faintly hear.  Soon he began to pace rather violently, gesturing violently as he appeared to be berating himself.  The longer this went on, the more her heart pulled at her to offer him comfort.  Sighing and taking another drink of Pucker, the artist closed her eyes as she felt the booze whittle away her rage and hurt.

Giving the room one last look, the superstar released a small noise as he felt tears flowing freely down his cheeks.  He couldn’t blame her for running off like that after what he had done but holding her in his arms again...  It felt just as good and right as he remembered and he cursed himself for even thinking he could have let her go.  He just wanted a chance to talk to her, to try to make things right again; despite the fact he really didn’t deserve that.  Slumping as his eyes didn’t find her, Manson whimpered as he felt his heart clench in his bony chest.  If she wanted to hide, he wasn’t going to try to seek her out; after all he couldn’t really blame her.  “Christ Cherise, I’m so sorry...,” he breathed as he turned and began to head toward the exit, practically dragging his heart on the floor behind him.  The singer only stopped when he felt a light grip on the left sleeve of his shirt.

Turning, he saw Cherise staring up at him with a bleary smile.  Before he could even so much as say her name, she was slapping him again.  Then she was standing on her tiptoes to give him a kiss that tasted of green apple flavored alcohol.  “Cherise, what...,” he began before she began to giggle and sway while practically hanging off of him.

“Ya jusht looked shoooo saaaad.  I couldn’t let ya walk outta here lookin’ like that.  Look, whattaya need me for?  Ya gotta great gal I bet,” she slurred, obviously way more drunk than she should be in a public setting.

Sighing, the celebrity shook his head before scooping her up into his black clad arms.  “I do believe you’ve had more than enough tonight my dear.  Did you come with anyone else?” he whispered, choosing not to respond to what she had said.  Chances were she wasn’t cognizant enough to absorb what he told her right now anyway.

“Yeah, came with a group of my friendsh.  They’re gonna flip if they’re sober enough ta recognize ya,” giggled the woman in his arms, a light flush on her marble skin.  Manson only sighed before carrying her over to where she pointed, not really wanting to let her down when she was this inebriated.

This soon proved to be a bad decision as the rather drunk woman began to sloppily kiss him while sighing.  “I reaaally shouldn’t be doin’ this since yer inna relationship but I fuckin’ missed ya, ya big fuckin’ jerk,” Cherise grumbled, tears pouring from her eyes despite the huge grin on her face.

“Jusht... why?  Was it because she was prettier?  Or was it because you felt more for her than you did me?  I really hope it was the shecond one.  Don’ know how I’d feel if it was the first,” she continued, nestling her face in his chest as she curled a fist in the ebony material covering him.

“Oh sweetie.  It wasn’t any of those.  I don’t know why I even started that relationship but it doesn’t matter anymore.  She’s been gone for a while and I don’t think either of us was really happy,” he replied, knowing she was unlikely to remember any of the current conversation.

Soon he was excusing her from her drunk group of friends, getting giggles and salacious looks in response.  “Well ya take good care of her!  Her last guy left her for a piece of ass that could be his friggin daughter,” Lavender ordered with a wide grin, her dreadlocked hair hanging in her bronze skinned face.  Pursing his lips against a vitriolic response, the ‘Vampire of Hollywood’ gave a curt nod to the small group before spinning on his heel and leaving before the drunken burden in his arms could correct her friends.

“Some friends ya have there,” he grumbled as he exited the club and strode to his car.

“They aren’t so bad.  To be fair, I was holed up for months before tonight,” she confessed as he gently set her on the passenger seat.

“Months?  I really wish you weren’t so drunk at the moment kitten.  Everything I want to say to you will have to wait until tomorrow.  For now, let’s focus on getting you home,” Manson rumbled as he shut her door.

A pounding headache and dry mouth was  _ not _ how she wanted to start her day.  Her mouth felt like a disgusting combination of the Sahara Desert and a carpet and tasted even worse.  Groaning, she rolled onto her back as she kept her eyes shut; trying to remember just how she had gotten home.  She certainly hadn’t driven home since her friends had gotten a taxi to the bar in the first place but she certainly didn’t remember getting another taxi home.  That was when she became aware of another body in her bed and everything came back to her in a rush.  Manson had driven her home and had fought off all of her drunken advances, eventually laying in her bed to make sure she wouldn’t choke on her vomit in her sleep.  She even remembered him telling her as much before she had passed out, filling her with relief that they hadn’t done anything while she had been that impaired.

Groaning as she slowly sat up, Cherise clutched her green and black haired head in her hands as if she was afraid it was going to explode.  Her brain throbbed like a rotten tooth and all she wanted to do was crawl her way to the bathroom and down some aspirin.  She would deal with the rock star in her bed when she could think again.  She was so focused on just getting out of bed and moving forward that she didn’t notice her guest slowly sitting up behind her.

After a nice shower and quite a few medications later, the artist nearly felt human again as she exited the bathroom.  When she saw the bed was now empty, she felt her heart practically shatter.  As much as she had dreaded the awkward conversation that was coming, she had at least hoped to talk to him about what had happened between them.  Maybe even find out just what had happened to drive him to another woman.  Slumping slightly, she adjusted her clothing before heading out of her bedroom and downstairs.  As much as she wanted answers for what she remembered happening last night, she knew it was best just to move on and let him go.

To say she was surprised by what greeted her in her dining room / kitchen would be an understatement.  Seeing Manson cooking scrambled eggs while singing badly to some pop song on the radio was nearly enough to make her run back upstairs screaming.  It was a mixture of surreal and silly that made the scene almost nightmarish.  Shaking herself, Cherise found herself backing away from the kitchen as quietly as she could; her heart an aching sore in her chest.  Despite what she had wanted earlier, just seeing him while fully awake was nearly too much.  All at once she wanted to escape and the artist found herself practically running out her front door and down the sidewalk.

A half hour later and she found herself in a park she often came to when she was feeling overly stressed out.  A fact she was honestly very grateful for as all her energy from earlier simply flooded out of her.  Slumping, Cherise moved to a more secluded part of the park; a weeping willow that shielded anyone sitting under it from prying eyes.  She didn’t have long to breathe before she heard the pounding of bootsteps running up to her location.  Then they stopped, the only part of them visible being the bottoms due to the length of the branches of the tree.  When she saw they were platforms, her blood went cold.  She truly didn’t have the energy to run again if that was who she thought it was.

The owner of the boots wheezed heavily as she saw enough of him through the tiny gaps in the leaves to see he was bent over to clutch his upper thighs as he tried to catch his breath.  “Fuck, she’s fucking fast...  I swear I saw her come this way.  Where the fuck could she have gone,” he rasped, sounding out of breath as she cautiously moved one branch slightly to get a better look at the rock star.  His inky hair hung in his face and his pale visage had hectic color on the cheeks as his mismatched eyes searched the path before him desperately.  Sighing, he plopped down in front of her tree and laid on his back; flinging a black clad arm over his eyes.

“At least I know her address so I could just wait there until she came back but...  Fuck, I just wanted to explain things to her.  She has to feel like absolute shit with the facts she already has.  I need to find her if it fucking kills me,” he wheezed, his lungs rattling in an unhealthy manner every breath he took.

Cherise could only watch, brushing a strand of the green part of her hair behind her left ear.  The singer had gone still, his chest moving the only indication he was even still alive.  It seemed he had fallen asleep.  Her heart ached for him despite herself and she knew very well he would tear himself apart to find her.  Gathering her courage, the twenty-eight year old slowly stalked forward on all fours, stopping when she was looking at his half covered face upside down.  Twin tracks of tears trailed down his face and he appeared to be whimper slightly as his fingers twitched in the plush grass.  “Brian,” she sighed, watching as his arm slid from his face as he seemed to drowsily reach out for something.

“Cherise, please,” he moaned in a sleep muzzed voice, his pale brow wrinkling as his hand searched along the grass for something.  

Sighing and silently cursing her bleeding heart, the artist carefully wormed her hand under his before lifting it to her lips and placing a kiss on the skin.  “What am I going to do with you,” she breathed before tenderly lifting his head and placing it in her jeans clad lap.  The ‘Antichrist Superstar’ only sighed contently, nestling into her as he continued his nap in peace;  a warm feeling of happiness filling Cherise despite herself.  She was done running from this man.  Whatever his reasons were, they could work through them together.

“I love you Brian Hugh Warner.  Heaven help me but I love you with all of my heart,” she whispered as her hand moved through his silky hair.

An endless time passed before he opened his eyes again, blinking blearily as he looked up at her.  Then he was shooting up into a sitting position with a sharp inhale, his unfocused eyes fixing on her for a split second before he was nearly tackling her with a tight hug.  To her utter shock, he began to sob quietly; clinging onto her tightly as if afraid she would simply disappear.  He even began to murmur nonsense, pressing kiss after kiss to her cheeks as his hands came up to cradle her face.  Giving him a small smile as her heart gave a sharp tug in her chest, the dual haired femme backed into the weeping willow with the singer still wrapped around her; seemingly unwilling to release her.  “I’m so sorry Cherise, so sorry.  I should have never...  I don’t even know what I was...  I was just so afraid of what I felt for you that I panicked.  She never meant anything to me, not really.  When we had sex, all I could see, hear, fucking taste was you and I became sick with longing.  But it had already been so long since I spoke to you that I couldn’t bring myself to call you,” the taller man confessed as he continued to kiss her, shaky hands timidly roaming her body.

Cherise could only blink as a terrible hope began to fill her.  Could what he was telling her be the truth?  Could he have just been scared to accept his feelings for her?  And even if that had been the case, could she really forgive him for the way he had made her feel?  For months of no contact and moving on without the courtesy of even a text?  Looking into his heterochromic gaze, she felt a sharp pain in her heart when she saw genuine sadness and regret shining in his expressive orbs.  “You know, for some reason I believe you but you can’t just keep doing that.  You made me feel like absolute trash.  Like you had thrown me over for the newer, prettier model.  You’re lucky I love you so much, otherwise I would just slap you for being a jackass and be done with you,” she responded in a small, quiet voice, inwardly cursing herself for feeling so drawn to him in the first place.

Before she knew it, the singer was above her; pressing her gently down into the grass as he gave her the most gentle, loving kiss he had ever given her.  “I know I don’t deserve instant forgiveness for what I did but... I want to try to prove to you just how strongly I feel for you,” he whispered before his lips met hers with an urgency she had only felt twice before.  Instantly she opened to him, her legs wrapping tightly around his too thin waist.  This drew a throaty growl from the performer as he ground himself along her clothed junction.  Within seconds, both their clothes were missing before he hilted himself inside her with a long, low snarl.

Then he was taking her sweetly, resting his lips against the racing pulse in her neck.  “You feel this kitten?  A feeling that’s painful and yet is pure heaven?  The sweet agony of me stretching your sweet little sheath around my member?  The feeling of me hitting every little spot inside you that makes you feel so good?  No one else will  _ ever _ make you feel this good,” he rasped, his hips pistoning back and forth at an almost punishing speed.

“N-no one else has even had the opportunity.  Last night was the closest I had come to having a one night stand that didn’t involve you,” confessed the writhing female beneath him, a shuddering moan leaving her lips as he hit something deep within her that made her nerves sing.

Her words drew a harsh noise from the singer as he took her even rougher than before, his teeth giving her jugular a none too gentle nip.  “You know who you belong to like a good girl.  You’ve been more loyal to me than I deserve.  You’re also mine, I refuse to let anyone else have you,” snarled his strained baritone as he pulled back to sit up, his eyes meeting hers and the sound of flesh slapping together filled their hidden cove among the sea of branches.

“Yours Brian, I’ve always been yours.  Even before our first time together, I was yours.  You know that,” she gasped, her head tilting back as her world filled with white hot pleasure.

“Then cum with me, give me what is due me after months yearning for you,” the rocker above her demanded in a throaty voice.  That was all she needed to let go, her vision exploding into white as she tipped over the edge; his voice declaring his love for her the last thing she heard before she passed out.

A gentle hand brushing the hair out of her face greeted her as she slowly came back to the land of the living.  A yawn left her as her baby blues opened to lock on the man sitting on a chair beside the bed.  Concern left his brown and whitish blue eyes for relief as he smiled at her.  “You were out for quite a while.  You had me a bit wor..,” he began before she was taking his lips in a sweet kiss.

“Am I to take this to mean I’ve been forgiven?” Manson purred when she broke away, earning a giggle and a playful punch to his arm.

“Just don’t do anything this stupid again.  I’m not really sure my heart could take it,” Cherise confessed before pulling him into a hug and planting a kiss on his paper white cheek with a loud smack.  The celebrity only chuckled and shook his head before wrapping his arms around her.

“How would you feel about moving to L.A.?” he asked, placing a loving kiss on her forehead.


End file.
